Someday
by 48691412
Summary: Everything changed once they realized it. Three-part fic. Lucaya/One-sided Rucas
1. His Imagination

The characters are older (late teenage years)!

Disclaimer: I do not own _Girl Meets World_.

* * *

 ** _His Imagination_**

 _He shouldn't be feeling this way, but he does._

Once he realized it, everything changed.

He tried to deny it and convince himself that it wasn't possible. It _couldn't_ be.

He would try to convince himself that the way she flipped her golden hair didn't make his heart beat, and that he didn't fall deeper and deeper into her eyes that shone the bluest blue. He tried to ignore her red lips as they sassed and smirked and smiled (which was **definitely** not hypnotizing or beautiful _at all_.) He wanted to focus on the brunette with the pure eyes, not the blonde with the peach scent and rebellious glint in her sea-colored orbs.

He wanted to fall for the clumsy girl, not the one with the tough exterior and a warm heart.

He wanted the one with the perfect life, not the broken one who's trying to desperately put the pieces back together on her own.

He wanted the one who would smile sheepishly in his presence, not the one who would frown with every retort he made.

It shouldn't feel uncomfortable to be kissing the clumsy girl with the perfect life and the sheepish smile. It shouldn't feel like there's a knife just _waiting_ to stab him when he tells her he loves her, which he does. He loves her. He loves her. He loves her.

Lucas Friar loves Riley Matthews.

Lucas Friar loves Riley Matthews.

Lucas Friar loves Riley Matthews.

Why does it feel so foreign to say it?

It's not a lie.

It _can't_ be a lie.

He has to like Riley. He has to be with Riley. He has to love Riley and kiss her at every possible moment and hug her and embrace her. He has to be Mr. Perfect.

He shouldn't feel like he's being chained and restrained every time she smiles at him with those big doe eyes. He shouldn't imagine a back, graced with the sun-colored golden hair, when he embraces the brunette. He shouldn't be imagining those eyes with that ocean blue color, which captured the sky all at once and danced with life as if it was fire and twinkled like the night sky, whenever he saw those brown eyes filled with love for him.

He shouldn't feel so _alive_ around the blonde; he shouldn't be feeling so adventurous, as if he was going to take on the world - his heart beating fast, with a smile so wide and flushed cheeks. A surge of fun and excitement and anticipation all at once. His laughter, his sarcastic remarks. Her agitated grunt, her angry stomps.

He shouldn't be thinking that maybe, just _maybe_ , she felt restrained when looking at the brunette's brown eyes. He shouldn't be thinking that there was a chance that the girl with the curly honey locks that seemed to have stolen a halo's shine (how ironic) wanted him to hold her small, fragile little hands, pull her close to him and lock her in an embrace, with his lips softly kissing her daffodil-colored hair as the smell of peaches and paint envelopes him, as he feels her grip on the back of his jacket, hearing her faint and soft giggles as she listens to his elevated heartbeat.

He shouldn't be thinking how her soft, red lips would have felt against his. As it gradually goes from being small and gentle pecks to passionate and rough. His tongue searching for every part of the inside of her mouth as her hands wrap around him, going under his shirt, unbuckling his belt, attempting to tear off everything. Feeling her teeth against his as they smile and laugh, her fingers running through his walnut-colored hair, both of his hands caressing her cheeks.

He shouldn't be imagining having slow dances with her; the feeling of her small fingers intertwined with his as they take every step together in sync and filled with grace. Her angelic giggles and everlasting beauty as she stares directly into his green orbs. Laughter and symphonies surrounding them, her body so close to his, her smile widening with every step, his love growing greater and greater with every look. His forehead gently kissing the top of hers as they continue swaying and laughing and talking. Her heels failing every now and then, resulting in him grabbing her waist as he pulls her up and calls her a short stack of pancakes, while she snorts and calls him a huckleberry.

He shouldn't be imagining feeling her soft body, his hand trailing down every curve, every inch. Her feeling his breaths as he plants his lips on her neck, her navel, her lips. Their intertwined hands as they look into each others eyes and see the world. Their lips curved as they giggle. Their hands and fingers exploring as if on an adventure.

He shouldn't be imagining always being there for her, lending his shoulder as tears drips and soft moans and sniffles are heard. Her body's warmth as she presses on him, his lips pressed on the crown of her head and the smell of peaches completely envelops him. He caresses her, wiping a tear away as he leans closer to her and she closes those beautiful blue eyes. When they fall apart and she opens them, he can see the fire dancing and the sparks flying. A small smile gracing her lips when she snorts and calls him Sundance. Proudness welling inside of him as he realizes his ability to always make her smile.

He shouldn't be imagining her, in his oversized white flannel laying on his lap as his fingers play with the golden curls. A giggle would grace upon her pink lips as he continues looking at her as if she was everything good all at once. He would lean towards her and softly lay his lips on hers. Once they break apart, he would hear her cherubic laugh as her small, soft hands caress his cheeks, leading him to her once more. Every kiss, every touch between them would bring sparks and laughter and pure bliss.

He shouldn't be feeling so content and satisfied just by talking to her, listening to her voice, taking note of every fluctuating sound coming out of her lips. Every word and every sentence being graced by those rose-colored lips. Her eyes shimmering with excitement or rebellion or amusement. Every movement she makes while explaining, every time her eyes changed color and gained a new glint, every time a new feeling - a new world - comes flowing out of her and into the world. His lips curving just by listening to her voice as if it was an angel's lullaby. He shouldn't be looking forward to talking to her about his days, about all stupid and trivial matters, about whatever goes on in the world. He shouldn't be looking forward to hearing her voice as she laughs and giggles and chuckles and grunts and moans and sighs and sasses and retorts and demands and interrupts and sings and teases and brags and jokes and taunts and objects and rebels. He shouldn't be remembering every word ever spoken by her and he shouldn't be focusing all of his attention on her and her movements and her stories that brought him closer to her world.

He shouldn't feel this much guilt and torture.

He shouldn't have realized any emotion towards the blonde female other than fraternity.

He shouldn't feel like the short stacks of pancakes should be _his_ short stack of pancakes.

He shouldn't be hating himself so much for feeling this way towards someone. Wasn't this supposed to be a pure and cherished feeling?

Why is it so destructive?

He shouldn't want to be with her right this moment and tell her everything. Tell her his thoughts, his imagination, his feelings. How she felt, what she thought, why they aren't together when they should be.

He shouldn't be wishing that someway, somehow, the beautiful and perfectly broken Maya Hart would ignore the brunette's feelings and just walk over to him and kiss him as if they've been in love for one another for _years_.

He shouldn't be thinking about another person while talking and embracing Riley Matthews.

He shouldn't be thinking about breaking up with Riley Matthews.

He shouldn't be loving Maya Hart.

But he does.

No matter how many times he tries to ignore it, or deny it, or pretend that it doesn't exist, the fact remains that he, Lucas Friar, is in love with Maya Hart.

He wants to be with her always, looking at the stars together while talking about their future.

But reality isn't going to be friendly.

He knows that he's going to have to wait.

Wait until Riley Matthews moves on _completely_.

Simply having her blessing isn't going to be enough.

Hell, he isn't even sure if she would even accept being with her best friend's ex.

But he's in it for the long game.


	2. His Eyes

_**His Eyes**_

 _She could never hate her. Ever._

Everyone could see it.

Even Riley Matthews noticed the way he looked at the blonde. Every time she would talk or even criticize him, she was always met with eyes that observed her as if she was the world.

He would always give this little faint smile and glance at her with this indescribable look in his green eyes. He would look at the wild blonde mess in front of him and just make out this expression that just _screams_ he loves her.

Riley chose to ignore it when she first realized it.

Who wouldn't?

Her first crush is in love with her best friend, yet he says that he likes her instead.

She wanted her fairy tale ending and Lucas Friar was volunteering to be the prince.

So they started their relationship.

Even after all the " _I love you's,_ " all the kisses, all the embraces, the look he gave to her never even compared to the look he gave Maya. Every word he said to Riley seemed so mechanical and generic, even though every word towards the blonde was so spontaneous...so _himself_.

She could see him struggle with his feelings towards her.

His glances screamed both _"I love you"_ and _"I can't have you"_

His glances were always tainted with guilt and pity - pity towards himself, towards Maya, and towards Riley. His green eyes were both dull and filled with life. They shone so brightly whenever he spoke to her, and her blue eyes would always give off the impression of constricted desire.

She tried to ignore the way he changed around the blonde. She tried to ignore his gigantic smile, his playfulness around her, his look of love and infatuation and desire and craving. She tried to pretend that he didn't suddenly sprung to life whenever the golden-haired girl was around.

When Riley finally acknowledged the truth, she was in her room, dark and alone. In a room void of life, void of him and her, void of everything, she cried. Tears continuously spilled down her cheeks as she tried to muffle the moans and sniffles. Her head was buried in between her knees and she tried to stop feeling that huge strange lump in her throat. She wanted to ignore the feeling of her heart sinking and breaking and shattering. She wanted to be happy for her best friend but now, in the room with no one else but her, she resented the blonde for making the chestnut-haired teenager fall for her. She resented her for having that glow that she never had.

She hated resenting Maya Hart.

Maya didn't deserve it.

Maya didn't mean for it to happen.

Maya definitely didn't do anything about her feelings for Lucas Friar. The blonde always smiled and push those two together, always having a crestfallen smile when looking at their backs walking away from her.

She hated being protected by those two.

She hated being the reason why they weren't happy.

She hated being the person who prevented her best friend for finally getting what she deserved.

She sniffed and wiped her never-ending stream of tears. The brunette knew what the future was going to hold for the fairy tale couple.

 _"Riley, I need to talk to you"_

 _"Good, because I need to tell you something"_

Mr. and Mrs. Perfect didn't exist anymore.


	3. Her Hopes

_**Her Hopes**_

 _She just needs a reminder and it'll all be better. Everything will go back to the way it was. The way it was meant to be._

Once she realized it, everything changed.

She told herself to contain it.

She told herself that no matter what happens, contain it.

It wasn't possible. It _couldn't_ be possible.

She spent her nights pacing back and forth in her room, panicked and frantic.

It doesn't exist. It doesn't exist. It doesn't exist.

It's not happening. It's not happening. It's not happening.

There were days when she would go to the open rooftop, unable to bear the suffocation in her room. She would feel the cold breeze against her skin and her tensions would immediately relax. Her smile would widen and her eyes would shine as she looked up. The stars would shine so brightly amongst the vast darkness, as if each and every one of them was the light at the end of the tunnel.

As if each and every one of them represented all the endings possible.

All of the choices made, and all of the choices denied.

She would look up to the sky and it gave her hope.

Hope that, maybe one day, he would feel the same. That it was possible for him to see the sun and think of her. That he would spend his nights thinking about her, fantasizing about her, dreaming about her. That every time he looked at her, it would be like she was the only one who mattered. He would look at her the way she looked at him.

She hoped that her best friend would accept that she gained feelings for him. She would tell her and she would respond with her usual, comforting smile. The brunette would tell her that it was alright, that their story was over (because, of course, she would reveal her secret after they broke up), and that she deserves to be happy. The brunette would hug her and soothe her.

Then she would realize that it wasn't possible.

She would look at her own tiny little hands and realize how hope is for suckers and how weak she was. She didn't have the confidence to tell Riley that she fell for Lucas. She didn't have the confidence to work towards her own happy ending and she hated it.

She hated liking her best friend's boyfriend.

She hated ending every day with thoughts of him.

She hated how he made her heart beat so quickly, her stomach clench, her mind wander to their beautiful, one-of-a-kind, beach wedding with the salty breeze floating her beautiful golden hair, his green orbs looking at her and only her, promising their eternal love for one another.

She didn't have the endurance to love someone only for her heart to break. She didn't want him to become something more only for him to walk away from her. She wasn't going to allow him to be her everything only for him to eventually become a stranger in mere seconds.

She shouldn't want to take the risks, but she wants to.

She wants to open her heart to him, to allow him to see her cry in her most vulnerable and insecure state. She wants to feel his arms around her, filling her with his warmth and his scent. She wants to smile in response to his warm smile, his cute dorkiness, his contagious laugh. She wants to accept the fact that he makes her so happy, so ecstatic, so... _complete_.

She wants so much from him and she wants to do so much with him and she wants to be able to give him what he deserves.

She wants to wake up on a Sunday morning and see his sleeping face. Her fingertips tracing his every feature: his curled eyelashes, his soft lips, his smooth cheeks. She would feel air coming out of his nostrils, reminding her that he was alive, that he was living, that he exists. Her giggles and her touch would wake him up and his beautiful, life-filled eyes would look at her and his smile would just widen at the sight of her. His adorable giggles would intertwine with hers and their bedroom would be filled with their joy and bliss.

She wants to feel his warmth behind her whenever she's painting. They would look at her creation and she would ask him for his opinion and he would point out every detail and every single part he liked. He would point out the parts that he didn't like and always tried to tell it in between kisses. She would giggle and turn around, gazing into his emerald eyes and they would start swaying and smiling and loving until she interrupts the mood by painting blue straight down in the middle of his face. He would stop movement in shock for a second until he laughs and stare into her blue eyes cunningly and mischievously. She would widen her eyes and try to release herself from his grasp but he would hold her tighter and planted his blue-colored lips on hers. He would look at her and simply laugh at the smudges of blue across her face. She would glare at him until he shuts up and releases her, only to dip his hand into the cup of purple paint and just lather it all over her and continue laughing with his shit-eating grin. She laughs and dumps the paintbrush into the green paint and brushes it all over him, noticing how similar the color of his eyes were to the paint. His handprints of so many different colors, eventually turning more and more distorted and grayish black with every print, would be sprayed across her clothes and her face and her hair. Whips of every color and specks of gray would be sprinkled across his shirts and pants and he would tell her he regrets not wearing an apron before hugging her.

She smiled at the thought of his arms around her, being enveloped in his scent, feeling every part of him against her, his warmth against hers, being on her tip-toes until he chuckles (and how she _**loved**_ hearing him laugh) and picks her up, noting that she really was _his_ short stack of pancakes. She would roll her eyes and criticize his nicknaming skills before calling him a sundance.

She loves the nickname regardless.

She wants to be able to touch every part of him, to listen to his stories - no matter how trivial - to tell him fragments of her life, no matter how vulnerable it would make her.

He was already everything she wanted, yet the one thing she wouldn't allow herself to get.

The blonde female would wipe her cheek, feeling the dampness of her sleeve. They would never stop, and the silent night was disrupted with her soft moans and sniffles. Her hands would clasp her mouth to prevent any sound to come out. Her eyes would look at the cement floor, reminding her that, no matter how many endings may exist, she wouldn't let herself hurt Riley.

Not like this.

Riley will never know.

No matter how many days may end in tears, no matter how many times she would feel her gut ripping apart, no matter how many times he would just bring a smile to her face without trying.

Riley will never know.

She will never know that just by talking to Lucas, by bickering with him, calling him names and him retorting, she feels like there's nothing wrong with her life. That family life that could have been better, is better - would be better if he was in it.

She will never know about the imaginary days that shimmered with golden lights and romance and all that sappy stuff she was never able to watch. Thoughts of him would just fill her mind and there were so many days when she just wished that she would never wake up from her dreams. Those four little children - one being named Riley, of course - running around as the two would chase them around would never be spoken of. The loud barking of their huge, gigantic dog would never be heard. Lucas and Maya Friar's home would never exist outside of her imagination.

More tears would come pouring and her ability to breathe become harder and harder. Her moans would become a little bit louder and louder and louder by every second. She would end up on the floor, her hands no longer covering her mouth, but rather her legs. Her throat would have this horrendous little lump which made breathing seem impossible. The weight on her heart would continue sinking down onto her and the world would become a distorted blur. Her sleeves become damp and wet and useless against the relentless attack of her tears. She would start wishing that it would rain so that it could cover up her tears, so that it was easier for her to hide behind a mask.

Riley can never know.

Farkle can never know.

Lucas can never know.

Every time she sees the perfect couple, she _has_ to smile. She _has_ to cheer them on. She _has_ to support them and make sure that they get the ending they deserved.

She couldn't get in the way of that.

Every kiss she sees, every "I love you" she hears, every single finger of Riley's intertwined with Lucas's in the most perfect way possible couldn't affect her in any visible way.

Every single pang in the heart, every time she sees her imaginary world shattering, every time it seems like one of those gleaming stars went out, had to be hidden.

Every night would start with her pacing about in her room, then she would go to the rooftop, then she would hope.

Then she would realize something so crucial:

Hope is for suckers.

You hope for things, you get disappointed.

And it sucks getting disappointed every single day.


End file.
